


'Cause you're there for me, too

by DesignatedGrape



Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: David has glasses because why not, Fluff, Future Fic, M/M, Patrick Brewer is a Troll, Puns as symbolism, Teasing as a Love Language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-07
Updated: 2021-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-13 21:09:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,438
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29907129
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DesignatedGrape/pseuds/DesignatedGrape
Summary: “Um, why did Alexis send you a package?”Patrick pulls out the layers of paper meant to protect whatever it is during shipping, and reveals a white coffee mug with black lettering. “Oh my god,” he breathes.“What?”Patrick lifts the mug reverently out of the box and presents it to David.David rears back in horror. “She’s dead.”
Relationships: Patrick Brewer/David Rose
Comments: 25
Kudos: 200





	'Cause you're there for me, too

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to a lovely group of people for the unintended inspiration and subsequent encouragement.

“Um, why did Alexis send you a package?”

Patrick glances up from his book as David walks through the front door of the cottage, his thick eyebrows knitted in confusion above his black-framed glasses as he considers the small brown box in his hands.

“Hi honey, I missed you, too! My day off was great, thanks for asking.”

David gives him a withering look. “Uh huh, hi. Why is Alexis sending you a package?”

Patrick purses his lips expectantly, and David rolls his eyes as he crosses the living room to place a soft kiss on Patrick’s lips. David is smiling when he pulls away. “Welcome home. I love you,” Patrick says.

“I love you, too.” David thrusts the box into his hands. “Open it!”

Patrick laughs and stands to get a pair of scissors from the kitchen, David trailing close behind him. He slices open the tape and folds back the flaps to reveal a small white notecard.

Patrick smiles to himself. Growing up, he’d always wanted a sibling, and for all that Alexis can be flighty or self-involved at times, he’s also achingly proud of her and everything she has accomplished. He’d meant what he said to Mr. Rose before the wedding about feeling lucky to be joining the Rose family. He loves being able to call her his sister, and even though David pretends to hate it when they gang up on him, Patrick knows that he not-so-secretly adores how close they’ve become over the years.

He picks up the card and hands it to David, who nudges his glasses back up his nose before reading it and raising an inquisitive eyebrow. “What’s inside?”

Patrick pulls out the layers of paper meant to protect whatever it is during shipping, and reveals a white coffee mug with black lettering. “Oh my god,” he breathes.

“What?”

Patrick lifts the mug reverently out of the box and presents it to David.

David rears back in horror. “She’s dead.”

“This is my favorite mug.”

“I’m going to kill her.”

“I will never use another one.”

“You don’t even like _Friends_!”

“But David, look! This mug was basically made for me. Brewin’! Get it? Like my name!” He blinks innocently at his husband, consciously tightening the corners of his mouth to keep his grin from revealing itself.

“What was she _thinking_?” David whines. He’s already walking away, shaking out his hands as if their movement will cause strong enough reverberations through the air to make the mug disintegrate in Patrick’s hands.

Patrick clutches the mug to his chest protectively as David goes back into the living room, probably to FaceTime Alexis and yell at her. Once he deems it safe, he gently puts the mug on the counter and grins to himself as he pulls up the messaging app on his phone. This is going to be so much fucking fun.

\----------

He starts things simply enough. The next few mornings, Patrick makes his tea in his new mug and sips from it while pointedly staring at David across the table. He throws in a couple of loud “ahhh”s for good measure.

David’s reaction is minimal, as expected. Patrick bides his time.

A few days later, Stevie texts him to let him know that his package from Alexis has arrived at the motel office. It happens to be David’s day off, so Patrick walks over at lunch to go pick it up.

“Remind me again why I’m doing this for you?” Stevie asks as she heaves the large box over the counter. Patrick silently hands her a bottle of her favorite wine. “Ah, right.”

“Plus, the added bonus of watching David slowly get increasingly agitated.”

Stevie props her elbow on the counter and rests her hand on her chin, eyes wide with mirth. “Do you think he’ll finally call you his boyfriend when this is all over?”

Patrick holds up two crossed fingers. “I’ll get him eventually.” He winks at Stevie and picks up the box to head back to the store. He has some work to do.

\----------

The next day, when David comes back from the cafe with his afternoon coffee and Patrick’s afternoon tea, Patrick leans across the counter to kiss David sweetly as he accepts the cup. “Thank you.”

David smiles. “You’re welcome.”

Patrick takes a sip and makes a show of wrinkling his nose and looking down at the cup. “Is this English breakfast?”

“Um, yes, but I definitely can’t make any guarantees about the quality and consistency of the tea at the cafe.”

“Hm.” Patrick sips again and frowns dramatically. “It’s fine. It’s just...not quite right.”

“Well, drink it or don’t, but that disastrous scarf display is in desperate need of attention.” David walks away.

Patrick reaches under the counter to pull a “how you BREWIN’?” mug out from the shelf underneath the cash register. He calmly places it on the counter, removes the plastic lid from the cafe cup, and pours the contents into the mug. At the sound of liquid splashing into ceramic, David turns, and then narrows his eyes. Patrick maintains eye contact as he lifts the mug to his lips and takes a drink. “Ah! Perfect.”

He smiles at David and turns to go into the back room. He definitely doesn’t imagine the huff of annoyance that he hears behind him.

\----------

“This is stupid.” David shifts on Stevie’s uncomfortable orange couch in desperate search of any position that will be comfortable. Patrick is sure he won’t find one. This thing is awful. “Why are we here instead of at our house, with our beautiful, soft sofa that is large enough to seat all of us comfortably?”

“Because,” Stevie says, as she hands David a mostly-full wine glass, “this is one of the last times we’ll be able to hang out here.”

“Yes, and we’re thrilled that you’re finally moving into an apartment that has an actual door on the bedroom, but I’d think you’d be more than ready to get the fuck out of here.”

“But David,” Patrick interjects, turning a wistful gaze to the bed, “think of all the memories we have here.”

“Okay,” Stevie gags, “that’s disgusting. I’m going to need something stronger than wine if I’m going to make it through a movie with you two tonight.” She stands and weaves through the stacks of moving boxes on her way back to the kitchen. She pulls the bottle of whiskey down from above the fridge and wiggles it at them in silent question.

“Sure, I’ll have some,” Patrick says.

David takes a sip of his wine. “This is surprisingly not awful. I’m good with this.”

Stevie turns her back to them and crouches to open a lower kitchen cabinet. “Basically everything is packed, so you’ll get the cup you get and I don’t want to hear anything about it.”

“I would never,” Patrick says solemnly.

“What was your excuse for the last eight years?” David mutters into his glass as he takes another sip. Patrick snorts.

“I heard that.” Stevie glowers at him as she crosses back to the sofa.

“Good, you were supposed to,” David says airly as he leans forward to pick up his phone as the screen lights up with an alert, catching it before it buzzes itself off the coffee table. Stevie hands Patrick his whiskey and settles cross-legged on the floor. Patrick raises his cup towards her in a toast before taking a swig, then glances back at David, who is frowning down at his phone.

“What’s up?”

“Why is Alexis texting _me_ just to ask how you’re--” David cuts himself off as he looks up at Patrick. “Oh, fuck no.”

Patrick takes another drink of whiskey from his “how you BREWIN’?” mug.

“Something wrong, David?” Stevie asks brightly.

He throws his phone roughly onto the couch cushion beside him and gulps down a mouthful of wine, swallowing audibly and sucking air through his clenched teeth. “Nope,” he finally answers, with a slight shake of his head. “What movie are we watching?”

\---------

“I’ll have an omelette with spinach and cheddar, and wheat toast, please, Twyla.” Patrick closes the menu and hands it to Twyla.

“Of course! And what can I get for you, David?”

“French toast with strawberries, please.” He passes Twyla his menu, and she tucks both under her arm.

“Coffee and orange juice? And tea for you, Patrick?” They both nod, and Twyla flashes them a cheerful smile. “I’ll be right back with that.”

Patrick reaches across the table for his husband, and David slides his warm palm into Patrick’s, his glasses shifting slightly as he tucks a shy smile into his cheek.

“So Brenda’s contract is up next month,” Patrick begins. “I know you usually work with the vendors, but--”

“Yeah, I will definitely let you take that phone call.” David grimaces. “She still hasn’t completely forgiven me for that stupid poison oak thing. It was six years ago!”

“I know.” Patrick squeezes his hand. “But you also called her moisturizer ‘infectious.’”

“Well, she wasn’t supposed to hear that part!” David squawks.

“Okay, here we are, guys.” Twyla’s chipper voice interrupts David before he can continue his annual rant about forgiving misunderstandings and his father not knowing what poison oak looks like. She hands over David’s orange juice and coffee first, as well as a little pitcher of creamer, followed by Patrick’s tea. Patrick maintains steady eye contact with Twyla as he feels David shooting daggers at him. “Do you need anything else right now?”

“No, we’re good. Thanks, Twyla.”

Patrick turns back to David, who is, as expected, glaring at him darkly. He picks up the “how you BREWIN’?” mug and takes a cautious sip of his tea, sputtering as he pulls it sharply away from his lips. “Ow, that’s really hot. I think I burned my tongue. Can I have some of your orange juice?”

David stares him down as he drinks pointedly from his glass, then sets it back on the table with a thunk. “Absolutely not.”

\----------

David is able to hold his tongue about the incorrectness of the mug--well, _mugs_ \--for a surprisingly long time.

He brings Patrick’s lunch to him at Town Hall on Council meeting day, kissing him lightly and setting the brown bag on Patrick’s desk right next to the “how you BREWIN’?” mug without batting an eye.

They meet with Ray to discuss photography for the next Rose Apothecary event, and stiffens only slightly when Ray brings out Patrick’s tea in a “how you BREWIN’?” mug.

They bring cheese and crackers to the botanical gardens to celebrate the anniversary of their engagement--David expressly vetoed any more hikes masquerading as picnics--and when David unpacks the champagne, he takes out the “how you BREWIN’?” mug that Patrick had snuck into the wicker basket and hands it to him without comment.

Jocelyn and Roland have them over for a dinner party that they can’t get out of now that Patrick is on Town Council, and when Patrick offers to help Jocelyn carry in the trays with dessert and coffee, the corners of David’s lips nearly twitch with a smile when he catches sight of the white “how you BREWIN’?” mug sitting alongside the stack of multicolored Fiestaware mugs for the rest of the dinner guests.

Honestly, Patrick is impressed. But he’s not finished yet.

\----------

Patrick’s favorite version of David is the one first thing in the morning, his eyes half-lidded behind his glasses and his hair wild, curls starting to form as they win out over the fading strength of yesterday’s pomade. It took a few years of semi-regular visits to Patrick’s parents' house until David stopped getting ready for the day before breakfast and Morning David made his first appearance in Patrick’s childhood kitchen, but he’s now almost as comfortable here as he is at their cottage.

Patrick is already sitting at the table with his parents eating pancakes when Morning David wanders sleepily into the kitchen in search of coffee. Patrick stands from the table and crosses the kitchen to wrap his husband in a hug and press a quick kiss to his spot on David’s neck.

“Good morning,” Patrick murmurs. He feels David’s muscles tighten as his jaw stretches into a deep yawn.

“Morning,” David finally says, after his yawn passes and his body relaxes again. “Coffee?”

“Of course.” Patrick gives David a little scratch on his upper back--a tiny, silent _I love you_ and _I missed you_ and _I’m always glad you’re here_ \--as he pulls away. “Go sit down. I’ll bring it to you.”

David smiles as much as he can manage in his semi-conscious state and moves towards the table as Patrick goes to pour the coffee. David can make do without caramel and cocoa outside the haven of a coffee shop, but Patrick adds enough milk and sugar to ensure that David’s drink still tastes more like coffee-flavored ice cream than actual coffee. He hands David the mug and gives his shoulder a squeeze, then sits down to resume eating his pancakes.

And he waits.

It takes David two-thirds of a cup of coffee and one and three-quarters pancakes before the caffeine, carbohydrates, and sugar wake him up enough to notice. Patrick takes a drink of tea, and David freezes with a bite halfway to his mouth, fork suspended in the air.

“Patrick.”

“Hmm?” He takes another sip from his “how you BREWIN’?” mug, slurping loudly for effect.

“ _Seriously?_ You brought it with you?”

“What’s he talking about, Patrick?” his father asks, as he takes a drink of coffee from his own “how you BREWIN’?” mug.

“Is something wrong, dear?” his mother asks David, “how you BREWIN’?” mug cradled in her hands.

“Oh my god…” David breathes, face frozen with his jaw dropped as his brain buffers through the atrocity unfolding in front of him.

Patrick sets his tea down on the table and reaches for David’s mug. “Did I make your coffee wrong?” Patrick picks up the “how you BREWIN’?” mug sitting in front of David and makes a show of inspecting the contents carefully.

“Oh my GOD!” David shouts, standing abruptly and sending the chair clattering to the floor. “No! No! It’s too much! You win!” His hands are flailing wildly now, his glasses starting to slip down his nose, and he nudges them back up before pointing accusingly at the four mugs sitting innocently on the table. “These are the stupidest fucking things I’ve ever seen! We have a beautiful, timeless set of mugs that I-- _we_ \--picked out when we got married, and instead of _using_ them, they’ve been sitting untouched all month while you’ve subjected me to this, this...depravity!” He puts his hands on his hips, fingers tapping restlessly against the soft cotton of his t-shirt as they itch to keep flying through the air.

Patrick’s mom is stifling a laugh behind her hand, and his dad is looking around the room, avoiding eye contact as the corners of his mouth twitch with a hidden smile.

Patrick doesn’t bother trying. He bursts out laughing as he stands to wind his arms around David’s waist. David furrows his brow and wrinkles his nose adorably, and he pushes at Patrick’s shoulders in a poor facsimile of genuine anger. “The mugs are lonely, Patrick,” he whispers.

“Oh, the mugs are _lonely,_ ” he appeases. David nods pathetically. “Okay. I promise to start using them again as soon as we get home.” He leans up and kisses the tip of David’s nose.

“Thank you.” David breathes a sigh.

“But for right now,” Patrick continues, and David raises an eyebrow, “our drinks are already made, and the mugs are already dirty. Do you think you can suffer through using these one last time?"

"Besides," Patrick's mom chimes in, "this is a Brewer household, after all."

David would _never_ roll his eyes at Marcy Brewer, but this is about the closest Patrick has ever seen him come to it. "Okay, but can I at least have a new one? I'm not a Brewer."

"No can do, son," his dad says. "You've been a Brewer for years now. You're stuck with us, I'm afraid." He points at David's coffee. "And the mug." He winks, and David's face morphs from his tired and frustrated pout to his fond and overwhelmed one as his eyes turn glassy. Patrick squeezes him a little tighter.

"Um," David finally chokes out, "I guess I can make an exception. Just this once."

"Good." Patrick's mom smiles at him, and Patrick can feel the love she has for his husband radiating off of her, filling the kitchen with its warmth as it always did when he was a child. "Now come finish your breakfast. It's getting cold."

\----------

"Did I get it this time?" Mr. Rose's voice booms through the small speaker of the iPad, overly loud even to Patrick, who is in the kitchen gathering snacks for their monthly Rose family Zoom call.

"Yes, Dad! Now sit down. I'm not your ENT. I don't need an up close view of the inside of your nostril, thanks so much."

Patrick stifles a laugh as he pours wine into three glasses. Stevie happens to be in town this month, so she and David are already snuggled together on the couch under David's weighted knit blanket.

"Okay, is--" There's a sudden silence.

"No, Mr. Rose, now you muted it. Tap the little microphone in the bottom left corner."

"How about now?"

"Oh my god, _finally_ ," Alexis says, her voice slightly distorted by the mic in the Airpods she always wears. Patrick opens the package of chocolate chip cookies and arranges them on a plate.

"Hello, my beloved offspring!" Mrs. Rose sing-songs.

"Hi, mom," David and Alexis huff in unison. Patrick can practically feel the double eye roll.

"Not your offspring," Stevie mutters, though if Patrick heard it a room away, there's no way the Roses didn't.

"Ah, that reminds me! David, where is that felicitous husband of yours? He sent us the most [charming little wine goblets](https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/51012836243_d412efacfa_n.jpg)!"

"He did _what?_ " There's Patrick's cue. He loads up the tray and heads towards the living room as the conversation continues.

" _Yes_ , David! They are the cutest!"

She must hold it up for David to see, because there's a pause, and then a growl. "Patrick!"

"Yes, dear?" He sets the tray on the end table and sits down on the couch so that his face is in frame on the screen. "Hi, everyone! I see you got your gifts!"

"'Rose all day'!" Johnny exclaims. "Perfect!"

"No, Dad," Alexis chirps, "it's ' _Rosé_ all day'."

"What? That doesn't make sense. Our last name is Rose."

"Oh John, there's no need to be so literal."

"Yes, my husband apparently decided all on his own that getting wine glasses with _puns_ on them would be on-brand for you."

"Oh, they're not just for them," Patrick says gleefully. He picks up two "Rosé all day" glasses from the tray and hands one to David as he takes a sip from his own.

Stevie cackles on his other side. "David, what a thoughtful present!"

"I'm so glad you like it, Stevie," Patrick says as he reaches for the third glass, "because I got one for you, too." He hands it over and grins at her pained expression.

"Wow. Thanks," she deadpans.

"Oh yay, Stevie!" Alexis blinks rapidly at her in her little box on the screen.

"Okay, but I'm not in this family--"

"Don't be ridiculous, dear," Mrs. Rose interrupts. "You are as much a part of this family as any of us." Mr. Rose and Alexis nod, and David nudges her with his shoulder, a soft smile on his face.

"Oh, well that's...um, that's okay then." She looks down and tucks a strand of hair behind her ear.

"Cheers, everyone," Patrick says, raising his glass.

A chorus of cheers--and a tchin-tchin from Mrs. Rose--ring out, and as they all drink, David leans over to place a soft kiss to his jaw.

"Thank you," he whispers.

Patrick winks at him. "For what?" David just smiles and shakes his head. 

Patrick stretches his arm across the back of the sofa, drawing David into him and reaching out to scratch lightly at Stevie's shoulder. She scowls unconvincingly and takes another drink of her wine, and then Alexis starts chattering about her newest client, whose name she absolutely cannot share, but who is, she assures everyone, "like, a _very_ big deal," and Patrick settles into the familiar comfort of the chaos of a Rose family gathering. Even from a distance, it feels like home.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on [tumblr](https://designatedgrape.tumblr.com/).


End file.
